by Olivia Miles
She walked into the sea of gray hair and bit back a smile. There was no polite way too put it. She was just too young for this crowd.
“Bree Callahan!” A woman Bree vaguely recognized as a customer in her store came teetering over to her on heels that really didn’t work well on such plush carpeting. Her fingers seemed to wiggle as she eyed the arrangements Bree was holding in the box, and Bree reflexively pulled back before the woman could manhandle the delicate petals. “These are even better than last year! Aren’t they, Flo? Margaret, come look at these!”
The event didn’t start for another thirty minutes, just enough time to allow for a quick setup, but that didn’t seem to stop the women from filtering through the doors.
Bree noticed Colleen across the room, setting up some white, glittery cupcakes on a stand, and gave her a wink. Her friend just widened her eyes in response and mouthed something Bree couldn’t make out. Colleen jabbed at the air, making faces and mouthing something urgent, but it was no use. Bree was surrounded by a sea of white and gray and, okay, even a tinge of blue hair. And way too much perfume.
“I need to get these set up and grab the next batch from the car,” she explained. She managed to scoot to the nearest table, but for some reason, the group of women accompanied her.
“How’s the flower shop, Bree?” Margaret Miller, town librarian and former boss of her aunt Maura, inquired pertly.
“Wonderful,” Bree said as she fluffed up the petals on the centerpiece. She really had made Gran proud. The white freesia and amaryllis were a perfect contrast to the bright red berries she’d tucked into the silver-plated vases.
“And the house? I heard you moved into your grandmother’s old house.”
Ah, yes. Margaret was nosy, and not just when it came to research. Had she not been a librarian, she would have made an excellent detective.
“That’s right. I’m having fun putting some personal touches on it.” Bree smiled politely as she grabbed another arrangement from her box of four and sailed over to the next table.
Unfortunately, Margaret beat her to it.
“Any fun plans for the holidays?”
Actually, yes, she was thinking of suggesting a girls’ weekend away with Colleen, maybe to Stowe or Killington—God knew they both deserved a few days off and their shops would somehow survive without them—and she had been looking forward to finally tackling the first-floor powder room, but the eager sheen to Margaret’s eyes made her pause.
Something was up, and she didn’t like where this was headed. She glanced over at Colleen, who from across the room was violently shaking her head, causing her strawberry blond curls to rustle.
Crap. She’d been warned. But she hadn’t gotten the clue in time.
She set the vase down. “Just the usual traditions, I suppose. How about you?”
But Margaret wasn’t interested in talking about herself, it would seem. She licked her bottom lip, batted her eyelashes a few times, and said, “So no young man in your life, then?”
Bree felt her eyelids droop. “Not at the moment. No.”
“Yes, I heard about you and Simon Johnson.” Margaret clucked her tongue. “You’re better off. He was so lanky. And those glasses!”
Bree felt her defenses prickle. She liked those glasses. And so his posture was a bit tall and thin. He looked so nice in a suit, and his abs were surprisingly ripped…
Flick. Flick. Flick.
She snapped the rubber band on her wrist over and over, all the while staring at Margaret and willing her to go away. But the woman was saying something, and Bree wasn’t listening. She’d been too busy remembering that smile…
Flick.
Flick. Flick.
She glanced over at the dessert buffet in desperation, but to her dismay, Colleen had vanished.
Stifling a sigh, she turned back to Margaret Miller. “Well, I should really get the rest of the flowers set up.”
“You know,” Margaret said as she followed Bree to the next table. “You might want to give online dating a try. I was opposed to it at first, figured it was just a bunch of weirdos and creeps looking to murder someone.” She laughed. Bree did not. Instead she thought of Simon. Sweet, lanky, bespectacled Simon. If she had just tolerated his…crap a little longer, she wouldn’t have to be standing here listening to this unsolicited advice.
And really, had he been so bad? So he’d stood her up a few times. And he didn’t call very often in between their dates, which involved spending less and less time at nice restaurants and more and more time sitting around watching sports. He took up the whole couch when they watched TV, spreading out, leaving her to sit on an armchair that was really too stiff. He left his socks on the living room floor, but then so did her brother. He was a man. He wasn’t perfect. Maybe she had expected too much.
Flick.
Flick, flick, flick.
“My niece Victoria, you remember her, of course.” Of course. Victoria. Victoria had been a recent client of Bree’s. Her garden-style fall bouquet had been exquisite, if Bree said so herself, and everyone had commented on the centerpieces. Victoria’s wedding was everything Bree had dreamed of for herself. She’d had a backyard ceremony, complete with a trellis, a string quartet, and live doves, and her groom had even teared up as she walked down the aisle.
Bree had gone home and helped herself to a pint of Chunky Monkey after that wedding.
“Well, I know I’m not supposed to share this, but you know she met her husband online.” Margaret pursed her mouth, waiting for this tidbit to soak in.
Bree hoped her expression didn’t register her surprise. Victoria had told everyone they’d met on the beach, that she’d just been walking along, collecting shells, and she’d stumbled over a sandcastle, and then…Oh, for God’s sake! Of course she met him online.
“They seem like a very happy couple,” Bree remarked, not willing to commit just yet to putting up a profile and shopping for a husband. She was only just finally starting to build a life for herself. A lot had happened in the past year: inheriting a business and a house, and of course, losing Simon. Now wasn’t the time for any more upheaval.
With that, she explained that she really did need to finish setting up and hurried away to fetch the rest of the arrangements.
Honestly, who had time for dating? Who had a desire? She had a business to run and a house to renovate. And a DVR filled with her favorite programs.
Still, she couldn’t help but consider it. An online profile. What picture would she put up? The one of her and Colleen taken at Victoria’s wedding had been lovely, but she’d have to crop her friend out of the photo, and that didn’t sit right. She supposed she could ask one of her cousins or friends to snap a few photos of her, but they’d wonder what they were for, and then no doubt be thrilled that she was finally moving on.
Moving on. Was that what she was doing?
She blinked rapidly at the crowded parking lot while fishing in her pocket for her car keys. Yes. She was moving on. She was young—well, youngish. Was she going to sit around and sulk, or was she going to gussy up and get out there?
She’d crop Colleen out of the photo. Her friend would understand.
She was smiling to herself as she hurried across the parking lot, her trunk already popped from the remote keychain, when she heard his voice.
Simon. He was calling her name.
She froze, then turned, oh so slowly. And God help her, there he was. And he was smiling. And he looked friendly. After the whole flower-sending debacle, she could never be quite sure how he would react if they ever bumped into each other again.
Oh God, the flowers. She had sent this man a bouquet!
Was he laughing at her? She could no longer detect if that was merriment or happiness in those soft brown eyes. His glasses needed cleaning. They always needed cleaning. How many times would she slide them off his nose and rub them on the hem of her shirt? “What would I do without you, baby?” he’d ask.
So many times she’d wondere
d just what he was doing without her, and now he was here. Standing in front of her. Smiling at her.
“How’ve you been?” he asked.
No mention of the flowers. Good.
“Great! Never better!” Was it just her, or did she detect a slight knitting of his brow? “I moved into Gran’s house, finally.”
“Ah, so you took the plunge!” He grinned. She swooned a little.
“I’m fixing it up. It needs a lot of work, but…it’s fun.” It wasn’t fun. It was messy and frustrating and eye-wateringly expensive, but no need to get into that. She hesitated before daring to ask, “How about you?”
He shrugged. “Same old, same old. We have a corporate lunch here. Annual thing.”
Of course. They had a holiday lunch here every year. She’d been so focused on getting the flowers to the meeting room that she hadn’t even looked at the signs in the lobby to see what else was taking place.
“I’m dropping off flowers for the Ladies League lunch. Christmastime in Misty Point…” She trailed off, unsure of where she was going with that statement.
“You sticking around town for the holidays?” he asked, and Bree felt a stab of disappointment. She always stayed in Misty Point for the holidays. How didn’t he know that?
“Of course.” Her smile felt a little strained. She could feel Gran watching her, tutting. “Wouldn’t miss the tree lighting.”
“Remember last year?” He grinned, almost wistfully, she realized with a jolt.
She narrowed her eyes on him suspiciously. Of course she remembered. Not that she’d be telling him as much.
He continued. “After we went to Nolan’s, had a bottle of wine, and split a lobster.”
“You let me have both claws,” she remembered, thawing a little.
“That was a fun night,” Simon said after a beat. He held her gaze a second too long. Enough to make her heart tug a little. “Maybe…maybe we can do something like that again this year. For old time’s sake?”
His grin was wider, downright hopeful, and Bree could only blink in response.
It was this easy? All these months, she’d avoided a run-in almost as much as she fantasized about one, and he had the nerve to casually ask her out? Because that’s what he was doing, right? Asking her out?
Or perhaps, feeling her out.
Well.
“Maybe.” She took a step back.
“Tree lighting is at five-thirty,” he said, as if she could forget. As if anyone who had grown up in Misty Point didn’t know this fact.
“Five-thirty,” she said, nodding.
“Well.” Simon nodded, grinning, then jutted his chin to the left. “I should probably get inside before the shrimp cocktail’s gone.”
Bree laughed—a little too loudly, damn it—and said, “Bye.”
Simon shoved his hands in his pockets, giving her one last smile before he walked away.
Her hands were shaking as she opened the trunk and stared at her arrangements. She needed to get the rest of them into the building, and soon, but first she needed to clear her head. Process what had just happened.
She looked up at the sky just as the snowflakes began to fall, swirling down around her, landing on her nose. She grinned. It might just be a magical Christmas after all.
* * *
Charlotte glanced at her watch and then back to the door of Murphy’s again. It wasn’t like Bree to be late. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. No missed calls. Not even from her landlord, she thought wryly.
Still, it didn’t change the fact that a week from Sunday, she had nowhere to go. She planned to ask Colleen if she could camp out at her apartment, just until the end of the month. The burst pipe scenario worked perfectly, and once she got her bonus from the Frost party, she’d be able to put a deposit down on a place for January.
She knew just the building. A quaint converted mansion just parallel to Harbor Street, right in the center of town. They had a two-bedroom unit with a balcony and in-unit laundry available for the first of the year, and Charlotte intended to call the property management company today. The cost was dear. But if she had the deposit, first month’s rent, and a letter of recommendation from her employer, it could be hers. Certainly her sister would happy to give a reference, and the burst pipe story would make the transition during the holidays all that much more plausible.
The bell above the door jingled, and Charlotte looked up to see Bree walk in the room. She held up her hand to catch her cousin’s attention.
“Sorry I’m late.” Bree was breathless as she pulled out a chair and unwound her scarf, but there was nothing apologetic in her tone. If anything, she seemed a little distracted, and not in an entirely bad way.
Charlotte frowned. The last few times she’d seen her cousin, she’d been a bit lost. But today her eyes were sparkling and there was a bouncy energy to her as she flipped over her coffee mug and waited for a passing waiter to fill it.
“I was just dropping off the flowers for the Ladies League,” she said. She licked her lips before saying, “You’ll never guess who I ran into.”
Charlotte felt her heart skip a beat. “Jake?”
Bree shook her head. “Simon.”
“Simon?” Charlotte repeated. She didn’t like that dreamy smile on her cousin’s face. “As in the Simon who strung you along for a year and then broke your heart?”
“I wouldn’t say he strung me along.” Bree sniffed.
Charlotte knew when to hold her tongue. Simon had most definitely strung Bree along, if you call waiting a week between dates and canceling plans at the last minute as stringing someone along.
“So you were happy to see him then?” She posed this question delicately.
Now Bree was frowning. “I wouldn’t say happy. Just…caught off guard. I mean, I’ve always wondered what would happen if I ran into Simon again. I’m sort of surprised that I haven’t yet. Not that I’ve been trying to…”
“You seem happy. Or you did, when you first came in,” Charlotte pointed out.
“I sound like a fool, don’t I? Simon broke up with me, and here I am happy to see him.” She shook her head. “What’s wrong with me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Charlotte said, wondering if she would have had the same reaction if it had been Jake. “You cared about Simon. He hurt you. It’s complicated.”
Bree nodded. “Enough about me. It was nice seeing you last night.” She raised an eyebrow suggestively.
“I know what you’re going to say, and I’m going to stop you right there,” Charlotte said. “Greg is a client.”
Bree said nothing. She just stared. It was one of her tricks, something she’d done since they were kids. It worked remarkably well, especially on Matt. But Charlotte wouldn’t cave. Not on this one.
“I promise you, Bree. Greg is a client.” And he was a client.
“So that was a business dinner?” Bree didn’t sound convinced.
“It was just a business dinner,” Charlotte assured her…and herself. It was just a business dinner. A meal where they discussed their arrangement. So why did she suddenly feel as if she was keeping something from her cousin?
She picked up her menu and studied it intensely, even though she had already decided on the Caesar salad while she was waiting for Bree. “We should order next time the waitress walks by. I have a meeting to get to.”
“A meeting?” Bree repeated with a knowing smile. “Why do I suddenly feel like meeting and client are code words for something?”
Charlotte had to laugh. “If something develops between Greg and me, you will be the first to know. But don’t expect that conversation to happen.”
“Why? He’s cute!”
Was he cute? Okay, yes, he was cute. And hearing another woman point that out made her realize just how cute he was.
She was getting off track.
“It doesn’t matter if he’s cute. My life isn’t my own anymore. Every mistake I make has bigger consequences now.”
Bree set down her menu and folded her hands over it. “And getting involved with this adorable and charming and seemingly interested man would be a mistake?”
A mistake was one thing it could never be.
But even as she thought it, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder why her cousin felt the need to press the issue, why it seemed so important that Charlotte settle down, find someone.
Was it really that bad to be a single mom? Was she somehow doing her child a disservice? Did Bree—and maybe everyone else—think Audrey would be better with a father in her life? With a traditional family?
“He’s a client,” she stressed. An unconventional one, but a client all the same.
But Bree just shrugged. “Does that matter?”
Charlotte didn’t bother replying, even though the question was no doubt rhetorical. Right now, a lot of things mattered. But her love life was far from one of them.
Chapter Fifteen
One of Greg’s most vivid childhood memories was the year of the Frost Greeting Cards televised Christmas special. It was the only year his mother had indulged in conventional holiday traditions since his grandparents had passed away, embracing things such as hanging stockings from the mantel, stringing popcorn, and baking cookies in the shapes of little trees and candy canes. She’d dressed in a festive red sweater dress, gracefully pulling her shoulder-length brown hair into a low ponytail, and Greg had been trussed up in beige corduroy pants, a white button-down shirt, and a hunter-green sweater. It had been Rita’s idea that they look “smart yet casual.” After all, they needed to appeal to the masses; they needed to invite the television audience into their home, to show them how warm and cozy the Frost lifestyle was—no different than the brand they built, the cards they created that were meant to be shared with loved ones, meant to soothe in a hour of need and comfort in a time of loneliness.
And so Greg stood next to his mother in their gleaming, underused kitchen at the Misty Point house, smiling but not looking directly into the camera as advised, happily slamming the cookie cutter onto the dough his nanny had rolled out earlier—Rita had explained to the camera crew ahead of time, grinning apologetically, that it would be better for her not to get too messy and have to take breaks to clean up or wash hands. Greg sprinkled the sugar as a holiday soundtrack played in the background, and then Rita made a grand show of bending over and removing the tray from the oven and carefully arranging the prebaked cookies on a large ivory platter edged in red ribbon and holly, before sailing into their magically transformed living room where they would string popcorn and strategically hang a collection of Frost’s most expensive ornaments from the twelve-foot spruce.
